


Tryst

by thebakkat



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors
Genre: M/M, NSFW, ghirazant - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:37:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3969545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebakkat/pseuds/thebakkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zant is a little frustrated with the demon lord's recent teasing advances towards him, and acts on impulse, much to Ghriahim's surprise and delight. A rather old work of mine, so a bit lengthy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tryst

Zant’s eyelids scrunched tightly as his head swiftly hit soft pillows. He was still trying to process it all when he heard the chamber door click closed and soon felt a weight pressing against the mattress to his side and a shadow looming over him.

Smooth hands, cool to the touch, cupped his face as thin, white-painted lips quickly took his own, one-two-three times – a pointed, dexterous tongue probing at the sensitive slits at the corners of his mouth. A keening, surprised noise slipped from him at the sensation as he still tried to replay the jumbled, frantic memories in his mind-

—-

_The sword spirit was particularly incorrigible today. Every move, gesture, passing glance seemed to be fueled by a need to attract the Twili’s attention – their shoulders would brush as they passed one another; every step in his direction a saunter with an extra sway in his hips; every time Ghirahim caught his eye the sword spirit snuck in a wink and a flick of his tongue before shifting his line of sight to where it belonged._

_Ghirahim plagued him relentlessly, almost seeking him out to demonstrate further distracting, confusing behaviors. Having been dismissed by Master Ganondorf for the night, Zant stormed off to seek refuge in his own quarters; maybe he could finally get his thoughts sorted out, devise a way to confront the sword spirit-_

_-Ghirahim had obviously noticed his retreat, and, just as Zant had the doorway to the chamber he had claimed as his own in his sights, a very familiar, and, quite honestly, unwelcome at this point flurry of diamonds blocked his path. The demon appeared before him, a smirk, more mischievous than usual, adorning his face, and a curious glint in his exposed eye._

_“Ghirahim, please-” Zant was struggling now to keep his composure, his nails digging into his palms. Couldn’t he leave well enough alone?_

_“-retiring so soon?” Ghirahim laughed, running his hand through the curtain of silvery hair covering half of his face. Zant couldn’t deny the spirit’s finely-crafted appearance; such sharply angled features were certainly pleasing to the eye, but they were not helping to relieve his current frustration – he tried to shift his line of sight so as not come across as transfixed. “I would have thought a creature of darkness such as yourself would be more of…a night owl.”_

_He was slowly advancing, a hand on his hip as if to accentuate the sway he placed in each step. Zant wished there wasn’t a wall behind him, or at least that he had his helmet on so Ghirahim couldn’t see the color accompanying the heat rising through his pale cheeks._

_“Ah, y-yes, well,” Zant swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. “I have a bit of a headache and wish very much to rest for the night. I’m sure you understand.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the sun had only just begun to set, throwing a wrench in his already sloppy attempt at placating the demon – what kind of stupid excuse was that? He tried subtly inching to the side to circumvent the sword spirit, but Ghirahim was obviously too smart for that, practically boring holes in Zant with an unwavering gaze, positioning himself at an angle that seemed two moves ahead of the Twili._

_“Hm, well – that’s a shame. And here I was trying to initiate a conversation. I do so enjoy our little talks.” Ghirahim was still somehow drawing nearer to Zant, although he couldn’t see how – it seemed every time he blinked the demon was a few paces closer. “But if you’re feeling ill, I do happen to know a simple remedy for those pesky headaches…”_

_Ghirahim winked - Zant simply could not believe the sword spirit’s pure gall. Zant was never an expert on reading others, and Ghirahim was no exception to this weakness, but the demon had a way of completely baffling him. Ghirahim’s adoration and connection with Master Ganondorf was obvious enough, but when it came to Zant, one minute, they were at each other’s throats, and the next, he was dropping these not-so-vague hints towards him, almost as if he delighted in torturing the Twili (which, based on Ghirahim’s affinity toward such matters, may have held true.)_

_Zant scoffed, baring his thin, pointed teeth. “I certainly wouldn’t know what you mean by that. Now please, step aside.” Zant attempted to move towards his door but naturally he was blocked – quite honestly, he didn’t know what he expected. The sword spirit chuckled as he teleported again and again, cutting Zant off at every turn. Watching him squirm was certainly delectable, and the Twili’s patience was reaching its limits. With a huff, Zant threw his arms to his sides, glowering at Ghirahim._

_“Speak! What is is that you want from me?” He was losing control of himself – his raised voice echoed off the stone walls of the temple, his arms quavering. Ghirahim simply laughed, leaning backwards against Zant’s door. Zant seriously considered throttling the sword spirit, but knew that while he towered over Ghirahim, the demon possessed much greater physical strength, and he wouldn’t likely emerge from such an altercation in one piece. Still, Zant had to do something – anything to redirect the energy surging through him; and in a moment, he lost himself._

_His arms shot from his sides, fingers digging into the shorter’s shoulders, and Zant brought their mouths crashing together._

_It was obviously not an expertly-performed maneuver– Zant had absolutely no experience with these sorts of things. Teeth clicked as they collided and their noses pressed against each other uncomfortably. In another moment, it was over – Zant wrenched his face from Ghirahim’s, panting, his face now practically glowing with blood flow. Ghirahim seemed nonplussed, his expression almost identical to his previous one, if only slightly off-kilter due to his now-smudged lip color._

_Zant returned his shaking hands to his sides, his ears burning and his gaze turned towards the floor; his eyes stung with newly-forming tears. He still felt frustrated with the spirit, but the surge of energy within him was simmering down; obviously he had misinterpreted the Ghirahim, and now whatever relationship that had formed between them over the passing months, personal or professional, was severely jeopardized from such a mistake._

_“Ghirahim, I…” he started, unable to sort out the buzz of jumbling thoughts to form an apology. “I was just… you’ve been so… and I didn’t…” Zant touched the tips of his long index fingers together nervously – the lack of an audible reaction from Ghirahim was not boding well for him. A white-gloved hand snuck into view, latching itself onto Zant’s wrist._

_Zant looked up, a questioning whimper slipping from quivering lips. Ghirahim’s expression had softened somewhat, but his eyes kept the same intensity as before._

_The demon abruptly slammed his heel in the door behind him, forcing it open. Zant flinched at the noise it made, instinctively lifting his arms to his ears, but found that both of his wrists were now trapped in Ghirahim’s strong hands, and also that the sword spirit was slowly stepping backwards, leading Zant into the bedroom; the Twili shuffled forward with some hesitation._

_They were inside now, but Zant hardly noticed – Ghirahim’s gaze was still penetrating him, and he found himself unable to look away. Half-formed thoughts, in both Hylian and Twili, clattered in his head; blood roared in his ears. This encounter was going in a very obvious direction, but he never knew with the sword spirit – not a single action of his could be taken at face value._

_Still, he couldn’t help but feel a flop of excitement in the pit of his stomach. Or maybe that was nausea._

_Lost in his thoughts, he failed to notice that his wrists had been released, the gloved hands joining behind his long neck and tugging back his coif, revealing an unkempt mop of auburn hair. Zant was shocked at the cool air hitting his ears, but thankful for their dark pigmentation, unable to reveal the color spreading through his face once more._

_Definitely nausea._

_“That’s better,” he heard Ghirahim say. Zant could’ve sworn his hair stood on end as he felt fingers (three, four… five?) run through it, the subtle sensations catching in his throat – he wanted desperately to catch the demon’s hands and grind the prickling, crawling feeling out with his own nails, but found that his hands just wouldn’t move._

_He swallowed; his breath turned shallow and his mouth hung open slightly, as if poised to speak, but the words were trapped behind the effect of Ghirahim’s fingers in his hair, which were now curling, holding him in place._

_“It’s a shame you choose to hide behind such dreadful accessories, my dear Twili,” Ghirahim’s eyelids lowered in satisfaction. Zant’s reactions to affection were truly intriguing; he chuckled to himself as the creature’s face grew redder, if that was even possible, simply from the term of endearment.  “You really are lovely; I’m sure you’d be quite the popular one if you let more people see that face of yours.”_

_The Twili’s mouth trembled slightly, but still no words left it. He was truly frozen in shock; where was all of this coming from? Ghirahim’s comments toward their master’s strength and commanding physique were plentiful (and well-earned,) but he couldn’t recall the last time Zant had received a compliment on his physical appearance, and to get one from someone as…_ gifted _in that respect as Ghirahim seemed baseless._

_“And maybe if you had been more popular,” he heard, almost a whisper – was Ghirahim getting closer? “Your technique would have been so much better.”_

_Zant didn’t get a spare moment to ask what exactly that turn of phrase meant; he made out another low chuckle from the demon before the distance between them closed, their lips meeting once more, slower and gentler than the earlier attempt. Zant’s eyes widened in shock, but the softness of the demon’s lips on his helped him to settle down quickly– his eyes fluttered closed and his hands found a resting place clasped at the small of Ghirahim’s back._

_Finally getting a reaction from the Twili, Ghirahim decided to press further, stepping closer so that their bodies touched, adding a slight roll of his hips as he attacked Zant’s lips with a little more fervor. The contact elicited a slight groan from the taller, buzzing across the pair’s joined mouths as one of Zant’s hands wandered beneath the demon’s cloak to press against the exposed skin on his shoulder blade; Ghirahim’s skin was unusual – smooth and cool like metal – but he figured that was rather becoming of a living weapon, and discovered that he rather liked the feel of it against his sensitive fingers. He felt the demon smile against his lips and then Zant was suddenly turned around, the support of Ghirahim’s body missing, and the edge of his bed at the back of his knees, causing him to stumble backwards with a small yelp._

–

Zant brought himself to a sitting position, and Ghirahim was quick to follow, his hands snaking around the Twili’s neck once more. This time, though, they pulled Zant’s coif completely off, and the sword spirit immediately attended to the newly-exposed flesh of Zant’s long neck, tracing its length with ghosting kisses. Zant felt the familiar crawling sensation and an uncomfortable, panicked noise slipped through his lips – he brought his hands to Ghirahim’s head to try to redirect him.

Ghirahim caught one of Zant hands, however, and held it, splayed in both of his gloved ones. Zant didn’t pull away, purely out of curiosity. Ghirahim stared at Zant’s hand, drinking in its beautiful strangeness; the pointer and pinky fingers were significantly longer than the two middle fingers, and elaborate runes decorated every inch of the Twili’s skin. Ghirahim could sense though, that his staring was causing Zant to become self conscious – he felt him trying to pull back his hand, to reconceal it beneath those hideous tasseled sleeves. Ghirahim pulled the hand back to him, his thumbs kneading at the palm, and placed a soft kiss at Zant’s fingertips.

Zant practically squealed at the action, his lip curling, unable to handle the positively wretched sensation brought about by such a seemingly innocent gesture. He was truly sorry to be cursed with such an oversensitivity to even the slightest of stimuli, but such subtle, soft sensations were definitely the worst offenders. He knew that Ghirahim was only trying to express affection (a notion that was still difficult for the Twili to wrap his head around) but he couldn’t help but reel back, aggressively rubbing his palms together to stifle the almost painful feeling.

Ghirahim crossed his arms, perplexed. The Twili was certainly proving to be a hard nut to crack.

“I’m sorry.”

Ghirahim shifted his gaze to the Twili, who was staring at the pattern in the sheets, his knees brought up to his chest.

“I know you mean well, Ghirahim, but these… touches…” Zant leaned forward, grabbing Ghirahim’s right forearm rather roughly, pulling the glove off by one of the fingers . Zant slowly, delicately ran his forefinger along the underside of Ghirahim’s arm, across his palm and to his fingertips, their skin only just barely making actual contact.

“They are uncomfortable – I cannot describe why, but… I ask that you not touch me in this way.” Zant still refused to make eye contact, but his expression was one of remorse. He did truly wish to be more intimate with the sword spirit, to continue their little game, but he truly despised the very things that Ghirahim had understood to bring pleasure. Still though, he seemed to have no problem demonstrating on Ghirahim’s own skin.

“Does it cause you discomfort to touch me, as well?” The Twili shook his head emphatically, as if to denounce such an idea. Ghirahim smiled and brought Zant’s hand to his chest, against the skin exposed by his outfit. He leaned into the contact with a breathy noise – Zant’s reaction was priceless, his eyes closed, pressing his fingertips into Ghirahim’s skin just a little more with a slight whine.

The demon exerted just enough magical energy so that his clothing faded away, save for an undergarment – a set of thin support threads loosely draped over pronounced hip bones and a mere diamond swatch of silken fabric covering merely what it had to – that didn’t really leave much to the imagination. Zant tried to avert his eyes, blushing heavily.

“Then take pleasure from exploring my perfect form, my dear.” He winked, stretching and leaning back on his elbows. “And do be more vocal, hmm? I simply wish to learn how to better please you.”

He leaned up to Zant, pulling him in for another, rougher kiss, his hands pulling at the Twili’s robes, that, while there was some resistance, came off to reveal Zant’s long, lean torso, adorned with striking patterns of black on white, scattered turquoise runes strewn across incredibly soft skin. Zant was a bit distracted now, desperately trying not to stare too intently at the sword spirit, feeling a bit, for lack of a better term,  _naked_  at the loss of his heavy, impregnable robes that kept him feeling secure, tethered, and focused.

But now, he was getting such a feeling from his fingers on Ghirahim’s cool, metallic skin as they traced down his back, eliciting an arch and purr from the sword spirit, rewarding him with another kiss; his gift of a tongue slipped along Zant’s lips, hitting those sweet spots yet again, a rush of sensation surging through his head. Zant moaned into Ghirahim’s mouth, drool seeping from the gaps in his lips as he pressed his mouth harder to the demon’s, his own tongue curiously rubbing against the infiltrator.

Ghirahim took this as his cue to dig at Zant’s highly obstructive clothing again, this time at the waistband of his breeches. He slid them off with little difficulty, but, curiosity getting the best of him, he paused from kissing Zant to investigate what he was dealing with when it came to “equipment.” Ghirahim had never been with or seen the nethers of a Twili before and couldn’t help but be slightly perplexed when he only saw a slit between Zant’s legs – nothing like the particularly hefty members of his previous partners.

Zant must have sensed Ghirahim’s apprehension and quickly closed his legs, huffing; the sword spirit obviously had thought his appearance to be freakish. He scooted back towards the pillows and brought his knees to his chest once more. Ghirahim moved to his side, parallel to him, and showered the Twili’s narrow cheeks and the alien curve of his nose with firm kisses (he was learning the strategic use of pressure was the key to touching Zant correctly.)

“My dear Twili,” he said, his lips still pressed against Zant’s cheek, “you must be patient with me. It is at times like these that experimentation is important, you see. I’ve never been intimate with someone with a form as striking as yours, and…” he moved to his ear now. “You must teach me how to bring you utmost pleasure. So, I ask: dearest Zant… what is it that you do when you are alone?”

Zant balked at him, his face growing a rather impressive shade of scarlet. He brought his hands to his face, the skin unbearably hot to the touch. Ghirahim’s lips pressed to his ear; Zant felt their every contour, cool and soothing. He wrapped his arms snugly around the Twili’s gangling form.

“Now, now; such modesty has no place here – there’s no need to be shy with me, dear Zant.” The sword spirit pulled back from him, reclining against the pillows and splaying himself out.

“Remember my words? Just touch me in a way that would be pleasing to you – teach me how to pleasure you, Zant.”  He took Zant’s hand and guided it once more to his own chest, arching into the touch.

The Twili was still red-faced, but Ghirahim could sense that he was relaxing. Zant’s legs flattened against the sheets, removed from his chest; he still chose to sit upright. He lowered his other hand and peered over at Ghirahim’s recumbent form, his eyes tracing the subtle lines made by the demon’s musculature – he was certainly defined in the abdomen, but not overly so, and still seemed rather delicate.

Ghirahim must have caught him staring – he met Zant’s gaze with one of coyness as he used both of his hands to move Zant’s palm lower on his body, over the sword spirit’s taut stomach. He noticed some resistance, but not because Zant was trying to pull away, but rather because the Twili was moving his hand against the muscles, firmly pressing into them as his long fingers rolled over each ridge, drinking in the texture of his skin.

Ghirahim moved one of his hands to Zant’s chest, keeping his eyes on the Twili’s face to spot any arising discomfort. He pressed against the porcelain skin, kneading slightly with his fingertips, and, thankfully, he seemed to be getting positive feedback – Zant murmured; a small moan, his head rolling back into the pillows as his back arched, revealing just how flexible the Twili’s elongated body was. Based on that, Ghirahim decided to continue, his hand journeying to Zant’s midsection.

The Twili wasn’t exactly what Ghirahim would call “muscular,” but Zant’s stomach was pleasantly firm – he rubbed small circles with his thumb over the prominent hip bones before splaying his other fingers across the patterns across Zant’s skin, making sure to apply pressure as he moved. He observed Zant’s face as it got redder, sighs slipping from between his lips. Ghirahim felt Zant’s fingers move lower, tentatively probing at his groin; his fingertips tracing over the thin thread and silky fabric of the rather daring garment.

Now they were getting somewhere.

Ghirahim rewarded the Twili’s action with a sultry moan and a buck of his hips, thrusting his clothed arousal into Zant’s open palm. The sword spirit’s hand quested towards Zant’s slit, a fingertip dipping inside. The passage beneath was warm and tantalizingly wet; the outer skin flushed red as Zant’s hips rolled against the intrusion. On Ghirahim’s body, Zant’s ministrations had begun to develop a pattern; his longer, outer fingers were positioned on the sides on Ghirahim’s groin while the shorter, middle two slowly, teasingly stroked the center along the concealed shaft.

Ghirahim tried to emulate these motions, spreading the slit with his pinky and forefinger as his middle and ring fingers entered Zant; the majority of the opening Ghirahim found to be quite shallow, but at the base he found some sort of passage, which he took to exploring further with his slender fingers. Zant’s eyes screwed shut, his lips upturned as he keened in pleasure – he pulled his hand from Ghirahim’s body and fisted the demon’s white hair, pulling him over to sloppily kiss and nip at his lips, moving quickly to his neck and shoulder.

Ghirahim chuckled low in his throat, craning into the Twili’s kisses and quickening his pace to elicit more from Zant, who moaned into the sword spirit’s skin as more saliva leaked from his mouth. The passage began to clench around Ghirahim’s fingers and Zant’s hips bucked against him. The sword spirit pulled back from Zant’s slit, drenched now in its natural slickness, and rolled so that he pinned the Twili beneath him. Using magic, he willed away his smalls, his growing erection now free.

He claimed Zant’s lips again, pressing roughly against his mouth and teasing those sensitive pits, rewarding the Twili’s enthusiastic moaning with a grind of his pelvis; he brushed his cock against the slit – which had grown hot with desire – becoming wet and slick with its secretions. Ghirahim shuddered and let a guttural noise escape him – he tore himself from Zant, his back curving as his fingers dug into the Twili’s shoulders. Zant’s long arms hooked behind Ghirahim’s neck, dragging him back to meet his lips, capturing the sword spirit’s moans between them as he continued to grind into him.

Ghirahim all but shoved his tongue down Zant’s throat, dragging out each roll of his hips to drink in these intoxicating new sensations. His eyes fluttered closed as he thrust again, but something entirely new happened this time; something warm and wet, almost like a tongue, was curling around his cock, gently squeezing. He righted himself, leaning back on his haunches to get a better look, whining slightly at the loss of contact.

Ghirahim thought he would faint right there. What the sword spirit could only safely call an erection, tapered, graduated, and with a sheen almost like that of glass, had emerged from the slit, visibly wet and engorged with arousal. He reached to touch it and gasped in delight at its incredible slickness, the way it bent and curled into his touch, and – of course – the breathy sounds that poured from the Twili as he took it in his fingers.

He brought his mouth to the tip of the cock, gracing it with a gentle kiss – it throbbed against his lips. His tongue emerged to encircle it before retreating, bringing with it a string of that naturally-secreted substance; sweet, salty, musky – a taste that Ghirahim could certainly see himself growing to enjoy. He eased his lips past the first ridge and sucked, greatly enjoying the cry he received as a reward, before proceeding to take it deeper. His tongue snaked out again to curl around the unattended length while he began to move his head, generating a rhythm, moaning against the Twili as he felt a quivering thigh press to his cheek.

Zant sat upright, his hand running through the demon’s hair, his mind buzzing at the feeling of the strands on his fingers mixed with the ministrations of Ghirahim’s mouth on him. His grip tightened, disheveling the silver curtain of hair further, as Ghirahim passed another ridge, his tongue swirling and twisting against Zant in his mouth. He found his other hand wandering, ghosting across the small of Ghirahim’s back before settling on the demon’s rear, groping and kneading at the tender flesh.

Ghirahim’s voice buzzed with a hum stifled by the twisting, questing cock in his mouth, rocking his hips as Zant groped him – the fingers in his hair tightened again as Zant explored further, spreading him to access the demon’s tight entrance. His long forefinger teased a circle around the ring of muscle, before finally, slowly pushing inside. The demon arched with enough force to remove Zant from his mouth, a moan tumbling from him that was positively obscene.

The Twili continued to probe, Ghirahim pressed against his chest, panting and gasping every time Zant experimentally curled his finger inside him – the prehensile cock wrapped around him again, stroking him. Ghirahim’s tongue writhed uncontrollably; his head was swimming with the desire to have Zant wriggling in him, further intensified by the addition of another one of Zant’s fingers, hooking and stretching him in a way that was just so… so  _delectable_.

He ground against the intrusion, eager to move on in their dance, still enjoying the feeling of Zant’s wet twisting over his erection. He so focused on the sensations that he had failed to notice the Twili’s other hand snaking between them, below their current entanglement, pressing at the flushed red skin below the swollen slit.

Again Ghirahim was pulled from the haze of euphoria by the feeling of a wet line traced on his inner thigh. Curious, he leaned back slightly to get a better look at what exactly Zant was doing – he swallowed hard.

A second cock, identical to the first, which was still wrapped around Ghirahim, had emerged from the slit, glistening with its natural slickness, bending into Zant’s free hand as he stroked it absent-mindedly. Ghirahim looked into Zant’s amber eyes, almost interrogatively, as if he suspected the Twili of hiding anything else from him.

“Hm… sorry,” Zant murmured out, biting back a bit of spittle. “It was stuck; happens sometimes… it was starting to hurt.”

The demon’s breath hitched in his throat, his eyes widening; he thought he was eager to be taken by that amazing, intriguing, beautiful cock before, and now… he needed to feel it-  _them_  in every possible way: between his fingers, against his tongue, deep inside of him; he had to act immediately.

He leaned back and straddled the Twili, taking Zant’s hand, now pleasantly wet from stroking himself, and placing it on his chest; Zant’s slick flingers brushed against one of the sword spirit’s nipples, earning him a breathy moan. Zant persisted, leaning up to take the other in his mouth, lapping and kissing at the skin as it stiffened, cool against his mouth; his fingers carefully imitating the actions of his mouth. Ghirahim whined behind closed lips, reaching to take the free, unattended cock and position it at his own entrance.

Zant withdrew his digits from within Ghirahim, now that he was reasonably prepared, but still kneaded at the demon’s backside, rather enjoying its suppleness against his pressing fingers. His cock was pressed against the ring of muscle, undulating and entering with ease due to both his previous ministrations and the Twili’s natural lubricant. Ghirahim moans grew louder as Zant filled him – the cock writhed as each ridge was enveloped within him, the demon’s hips rolling to take it in deeper and deeper. Zant keened loudly, thrashing against the warm tightness and the rocking of Ghirahim’s body.

Ghirahim gripped the Twili’s shoulders, his muscles pumping as he pulled himself up and down on Zant’s squirming appendage, crying out when it hit that elusive spot inside of him. Zant had his hands on the demon’s hips, thrusting upwards in time with Ghirahim’s movements; his breathing turned hot and ragged, and streams of drool seeped from him once more. Ghirahim bent forward to kiss him, leading with his tongue and moaning into the Twili’s mouth as the new angle allowed Zant to abuse the sweet spot even more, the other cock’s grip on Ghirahim growing tighter.

Zant broke the kiss with a slight growl, sloppily assaulting the demon’s neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. He pushed against Ghirahim with enough force that the two of them flipped over, his hands quickly moving to pin the sword’s shoulders against the sheets. Ghirahim tried his best to seem upset, but in reality he felt a twinge in his stomach of pure excitement – he was getting an amazing reaction from the Twili, and he was more than thrilled to see where he’d take their encounter.

The Twili’s arousal had grown to a fever pitch, his thrusting, accompanied by husky grunts interspersed with Twili speech (his Hylian would always slip in times of excitement,) was increasing in speed and intensity, fueled by the progressively frantic and wanton cries pouring from the sword spirit. He hooked his legs behind Zant, pushing down so that the Twili could push into him deeper, arching against him as he went. By now he had learned where Ghirahim’s sweet spot was and how to access it – he deliberately ground against it with each thrust of his hips and rippling twist of his cock inside the demon.

He looked down at Ghirahim; the demon was nearly lost in pleasure, a heavy blush coating his face, brow furrowed as his dark eyes rolled and fluttered as he was penetrated over and over – Zant decided it was a good look for him. His thrusting grew erratic; his grip on Ghirahim’s shoulders tightened as he felt the sword spirit start to clench around him, teetering that precarious edge. The alternate cock started to uncurl from Ghirahim’s, resetting itself on him repeatedly as its movements became harder for him to control.

The pressure building in his stomach became unbearable – with little warning besides a shudder and a strangled cry, he came, both appendages pulsing as they released both into the demon and onto his body. The Twili bucked his hips frantically, craning his neck to take Ghirahim’s lips against his as he rode out his orgasm. The added friction and the slickness against Ghirahim’s cock caused him to climax shortly after; grunting, his seed combined with Zant’s between their writhing bodies.

Zant grew weak almost immediately, he collapsed on top of Ghirahim with a sigh, nuzzling those heat-sensitive pits into the demon’s chest, which still managed to stay cool save for the slight conduction of Zant’s elevated body heat. Ghirahim, once his breathing had regulated, lightly pressed a kiss to Zant’s forehead, admiring the pattern that adorned the Twili’s pale skin.

He found he was too curious to keep himself from peeking down at Zant’s privates; the appendages were slowly retreating into their sheath. There was still a wet stickiness between the both of them – they were truly disgusting together, but Ghirahim was too exhausted to be bothered with it – they could always bathe in the morning. He was called back from his thoughts by a noise – Zant cleared his throat.

“Please don’t be rude, [Sweet One.]” He looked up to him with an annoyed, half-lidded gaze, his face dusted with blush.

“My apologies,” Ghirahim said, planting another kiss on the bridge of the Twili’s nose. The two laid there together quietly, arms intertwined for some time.

“What was that you called me?”

Ghirahim received no response – Zant had always been quick to tire, and these sorts of activities were apparently no exception to the rule. The Twili had already drifted off to sleep, his breathing soft against the demon’s skin. 

Ghirahim sighed and laid his head back, his eyes fluttering closed. Such questions could wait until morning, as well.


End file.
